


A Walk to Hanover-square

by Kalypso



Series: Conversations with Lady Pole [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-18 05:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalypso/pseuds/Kalypso
Summary: Lady Pole walks the streets of London, trying to escape her memories of Lost-hope.  The chance to join Arabella Strange in Italy has given her new purpose - but could an unexpected encounter change everything?





	A Walk to Hanover-square

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fengirl88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/gifts).



> This is the second story I have written in the world of _Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell_. It is primarily set in the television _S &N_ universe - I think some of the incidents mentioned occur only in the dramatisation - but I found it easier to reconcile with the storyline of Susanna Clarke's book than I did my last attempt, [The Rose at her Mouth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8323576). And I was overjoyed when reminded that, the day after Emma Wintertowne was restored to life, she "walked round Brunswick-square twenty times... [and] wanted to go further". It seemed like a sign that the two versions of Lady Poles were resolving themselves into one, as witnessed by Childermass in that book image to which I keep returning. I wish the television dramatisation had given us his vision of Emma in a blood-red gown, with stars in her dark hair... But is it really what she wore in Lost-hope, or does he see that because of the blood between them?

_"I'm going to the Continent, Sir Walter, to help my friend. I do not intend to live here again. I will not go from one kind of helplessness to another."_

After speaking to her husband, Lady Pole left the house. This had been her practice whenever she could manage it since they had come back from Yorkshire; Harley-street still seemed a prison to her, and sometimes she wondered why she had left Starecross. Amid the confusion of her escape from Lost-hope and the disappearance of Stephen Black, Mr Norrell and Mr Strange, she had been so exhausted that she accepted her return to London without question. But after several days in which she did little but sleep - what relief to sleep quietly, without dreams! - she realized it was the very last place she wished to be. Starecross Hall, though called a madhouse, had been a haven of sorts in her waking hours; if only Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot had not counted themselves magicians, she might have lived there again.

Perhaps Mrs Strange might join her, now she was found. Emma had heard that the Stranges' house in Soho-square could no longer be seen, so she had walked there and it was true, or half-true; she had stood where number 31 should be, and with her eyes open she saw nothing, though when she shut them there was _something_. She knew that Hurtfew Abbey had vanished along with its master, so she guessed Mr Strange's home in Shropshire had gone too. But letters had come yesterday, announcing that Arabella Strange was in Padua with a family named Greysteel, and with that news Emma had found a purpose in life again. She would join her friend, so that they might help each other, for who else could understand what they had suffered? Perhaps they would remain in Italy; she would give Arabella, who had lost her free will entirely while enchanted, the right to chuse. But if they returned to England, they might take a house, far from their old homes, and walk across the moors together. For now, as she planned her journey, Emma Pole walked the streets of London alone.

At first, she had feared she might be prevented from leaving the house; it was nine years since she had been able to move freely. But it was soon clear that Sir Walter did not dare to stop her, or even to insist she should be accompanied by her maid. She had also feared she might be recognized and mocked as the mad Lady Pole, so had worn a veil. But one morning, leaving the house, she all but collided with a lady and gentleman, whom she did not see until she had come down the steps; they apologized for startling her, but shewed no curiosity about her, and she realized that she had been forgotten in her long absence. So she walked without fear, and with the same energy she had known in the early days of her marriage, after her magical restoration.

She thought that, today, she would go to Mr Nash's New-street, to see the grand houses being built, and to rejoice that she would never live in any of them. As she walked briskly down Harley-street, however, she heard footsteps behind her - a man's footsteps. They kept pace with her so surely that she began to suspect she was being followed. She took a turn to the left in Cavendish-square; so did he. She turned right at the corner, and right again, forgetting her original plan; he remained behind her.

Emma Pole stood and faced him - a dark man, with a thin face and ragged black hair, whom she recognized as Mr Norrell's servant.

"You!" she cried. "What do _you_ want with me?"

"A few words," he said. "I have an offer to make your ladyship."

"You can have nothing to say that I wish to hear," she said, turning her back and walking quickly away. "I will have nothing to do with your master, ever again."

"I am not here for Mr Norrell," he said. "He is gone; I have no master now. I am John Childermass, and I speak for myself."

"And I have no more desire to speak to you than I do to Mr Norrell. You can have no business with me." She kept on walking.

"Oh, I think there is business between us. Do you not remember? Do you not see where we are? You _owe_ me. Your ladyship."

In her determination to be rid of him, she had not thought where she was heading, and her feet had carried her into Hanover-square. She looked across at the south side and, just as in Soho-square, she could sense the house that was missing. She remembered the last time she had been here, when she had tried to shoot Mr Norrell, and this man had got in her way. He had lain on the cobbles, blood soaking his clothes, as she was dragged into the magician's house... A year later, the same man had brought back her finger, enabling Mr Segundus to end the enchantment, even if they had clumsily acted too soon. But even she must acknowledge that error came of ignorance, not malice.

"Very well," she said. "I agree you have the right to a few minutes of my time." She walked into the garden in the square's centre, and found a seat.

Now that she had granted his request, Childermass seemed uncertain. Perhaps he wished to enter her service, now he had lost his master. She needed a manservant on her journey to Italy, and would prefer one unconnected with Sir Walter; an associate of Mr Norrell, however, would be even worse.

"That day, in this place," he began at last. "I felt you coming. I felt magic, strong magic, out in the square. There is a spell, Belasis's Scopus... I filled a glass with water, looked through it, and I saw you. I saw a magician."

She shook her head, angrily. "You saw the magic surrounding me. The magic binding me to Lost-hope."

"That was what Mr Norrell said, or something like it - he said it was _his_ magic, the same that brought you back to life. But it was not like his magic - that I knew very well. This was far stronger - I felt I was in two worlds at once, and you were there in both."

"In England, and Lost-hope," she said impatiently. "It was the fairy's magic. That was indeed far stronger than Mr Norrell's; _he_ could never have resurrected me."

"There is more to it," Childermass insisted. "Your tapestry - I heard voices in your tapestry. You had stitched magic into it..."

"It was _you_ who destroyed it!" She leapt to her feet in fury. "I owe you nothing!" For now she saw that he had made her shed her own blood - slashing her wrists in despair because he had slashed her handiwork - before she had drawn his.

"I did you wrong in my master's service," he said quietly. "But I tried to put it right. When I began to guess the truth about your resurrection, I came to Starecross hoping to question you. Segundus and Honeyfoot would not let me."

"Nothing I said would have made sense," she muttered.

"I would have listened to your words, and not treated them as a madwoman's ravings."

"What is it that you want, Mr Childermass?"

"I want you to study magic with me."

Emma was speechless. She sat down again, to recover herself.

"I think you are a magician," he said. "You were captive for nearly ten years, but you never submitted to the magic that held you - you did all you could to fight the enchantment - to save yourself and Mrs Strange. That shews great power."

"Flattery!"

"It is not flattery," he said. "But even if you did not have power yourself, you spent so long in Faerie that you have the advantage of the rest of us. We have a new text - a new book of the Raven King. It is written on the body of Vinculus."

"Vinculus?" she asked, curious despite herself. "The street sorcerer? I remember him - all lies and doom."

" _All magicians lie._ He told me that, once... But he prophesied what has happened these last months. I have some skill with Tarot cards, but Vinculus is his own Tarot - only we cannot read the King's letters. I will take him to the York magicians, if I have to, but you might do better."

"I was forced to _dance_ in Lost-hope, not to read fairy books. Even if I could - magic ruined my life. I want nothing more to do with it."

"Magic mastered you. You will not be free until you master magic. You must not be helpless when you meet it again."

She was silent. He waited a while, then continued.

"Before Mr Strange went to Italy, he made a similar offer to me. He said I should leave Mr Norrell and become his pupil. I refused, but I made him a promise. I said that if he failed and Mr Norrell won, I would take up Mr Strange's cause and oppose him with all my might. But if Mr Norrell failed and Mr Strange won, I would do the same for him. That way there would still be two magicians in England, and two opinions on magic."

"It seems to me that England is full of magicians now," she replied.

"There are many, but few of power. I think we might become the successors to Norrell and Strange."

She laughed. "Which would you have me be?"

"Neither! That is the error these new magicians make; they proclaim themselves Strangite or Norrellite. I see myself as both, and neither. Now both have gone, I do not need to chuse a side."

She nodded, thoughtfully. "Mr Childermass," she said. "I have had word that Mrs Strange is in Italy. I plan to travel there, to give her what help I can, now that she has been released - both of us have been released - from that fairy demon. You may accompany me, if you wish, and we will talk further on the way."

"No," he said. "I have business in York, which will not wait. But when you have seen your friend, and talked to her - then make your decision. Send word to me, through John Segundus, and if you chuse I will come to you."

"I will do so," she said, rising from her seat. But she already knew. When she talked to Bell - she could already see the light of hope waking in her friend's eyes, and hear her whisper: _"Oh! Emma, will you do it? Will you help me find Jonathan, and bring him home?"_

She had sworn to help Arabella Strange, and therefore there was no other choice. Emma Pole would be a magician.

**Author's Note:**

> Six months after writing this, I finally managed to trace Lady Pole's steps from Harley-street to Hanover-square. 
> 
> The tricky part was trying to identify Sir Walter's house at No. 9. The current No. 9 didn't seem very inspiring, but then I noticed that [Wikipedia's entry on Harley-street's notable occupants](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harley_Street#Notable_occupants) mentioned "Sir Charles Lyell (lawyer, author and geologist). Lived at No. 11 (which is now No. 73)". This suggested that the street had been renumbered, so we headed northwards in search of No. 73, which had an ornate red-brick front obviously too late for Emma's time in London.
> 
> As it was towards the northern end of the street, we concluded that the numbering had originally begun at that end, rather than from the south, as it does now. And it also occurred to me that I had once heard street numbering wasn't originally split into odds on one side and evens on the opposite side, but ran continuously up one side and then down again (so that, in a street of 50 houses, Nos 1 and 50 would face each other) - I have seen at least one street still numbered on this principle in Durham.
> 
> So it was possible that No. 9 was two doors north of the original No. 11, rather than next door - and, indeed, there seemed to be about nine entrances up to the corner of Harley-street and Weymouth-street, so could Harley-street once have started there, rather than further north at the junction with Devonshire-street? I don't know; another possibility is that the original houses were larger and have been divided, in which case No. 9 could have been further up. And I'm not sure whether the current houses north of No. 11 are of the right period; or whether they're stylish enough for the Poles.
> 
> But it seemed a pity not to take any photos after all this hunting, so here two possible candidates for 9 Harley-street.
> 
> We then set off in a southerly direction along Harley-street, following Emma's route round the eastern side of Cavendish-square and continuing on to the garden in the centre of Hanover-square. Few original houses remain on the south side, and only one of them looked remotely suitable for Mr Norrell; but then, even if his house were still there, we shouldn't be able to see it.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Curiously, the church known as St George's Hanover-square, where Emma married Sir Walter, is not in Hanover-square but a few minutes' walk to the south, on the other side of Maddox-road. So, as she does not walk so far in this story, she is not reminded of her wedding. And we didn't go on to the church.


End file.
